


Needlework

by Demerite



Series: Trektober 2019 [3]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical Setting, Bickering, M/M, injuries, wound care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 17:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20878130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demerite/pseuds/Demerite
Summary: Standing in the pool of golden candlelight, one hand raised to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness, Jim Kirk looks blearily up at him."Bones!" He calls.He's drunk. He's also loud. Leonard is pretty sure he's going to wake up the entire household at this rate, and then there's gonna be hell to pay.





	Needlework

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains a scene in which a wound is sewn up. Please read at your discretion.  
-  
For the Day 3 Prompt: Balcony Scene. Set in a vague undefined historical AU where they're a little closer to each other in age, and Leonard is still studying to become a doctor and Jim makes a habit of sneaking onto his family's estate when he's not supposed to be.

It’s late. Leonard isn’t actually sure how late it is, but his candle has burned most of the way down, and there are none of the noises he’s used to in the house, so he suspects it’s sometime after midnight. He’ll get up and go to bed in a few more minutes. He just wants to finish reading this paragraph first. Or perhaps to the end of this page. Or maybe the end of this chapter of the textbook. It’s surely not _really _that late yet.

Leonard is so immersed in the information in front of him that it takes him an embarrassingly long time to register the first few rattling thuds on the outside wall of his bedroom as anything out of the ordinary. He dismisses the first few, after all, there’s a tree that overhangs the balcony, it’s most likely to be branches scraping against the doors.

He turns his attention back to the book in front of him, trying valiantly to block out the noises, but he can’t ignore it when the low thumps are replaced by a voice. A _very familiar _voice.

"Bones!"

What on earth? Leonard gets up from his desk and stalks across the room to the balcony doors. He throws them open and peers down onto the lawn below, dimly lit in the candlelight that spills out of his room.

Standing in the pool of golden light, one hand raised to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness, Jim Kirk looks blearily up at him.

"Bones!" He calls again.

He's drunk. He's also loud. Leonard is pretty sure he's going to wake up the entire household at this rate, and then there's gonna be hell to pay.

"Go home, Jim!" Leonard hisses back, pitching his voice as low as he can while still staying audible, "You're drunk!"

Jim wavers uncertainly, and when he lifts his head to look up at Leonard, there's blood on his face.

Leonard goes from angry to concerned in a heartbeat. "I've changed my mind, come inside." He calls, "No, wait there, I'll come get you!" He can't have Jim bumbling about through the house when he's drunk and injured and who knows what else. That's just asking for trouble. He's not even sure how Jim made it into the grounds without being detected. It's not supposed to be possible, but that's never stopped him before.

It only takes him a minute to pull a robe over his shirt and trousers against the cold and run down the hall, through the kitchen, into the herb garden, and then out onto the lawn. Jim is still waiting where he'd left him, staring up at the open window, and into Leonard's empty room beyond.

"Jim!" Leonard calls him, and Jim whirls around to face him. He looks surprised, and a little unbalanced, his eyes bright and his cheeks pink from the alcohol.

"Bones!"Jim is exuberant, and still _loud. _

"Quiet." Leonard admonishes, "If you're caught, we're both in trouble."

He leads Jim back through the hard garden, kitchen, hall, and into his room. "Sit." He instructs, pushing Jim in the direction of the bed, and going to close the doors to the balcony.

"What happened to _you_?" He asks, turning back to see Jim sitting on the edge of his bed, looking fuzzy-headed and sheepish.

"Got in a fight." He admits, avoiding looking at Leonard.

"Tell me something I don't know." Leonard mutters, reaching for the pitcher of water on the nightstand, and the cloth beside it. "Who this time?"

"It doesn't - ow Bones! - it doesn't matter." Jim says sullenly, flinching away as Leonard cleans the blood away from the cut on his forehead. There isn't any glass in it this time, which Leonard counts as a victory.

"If I'm cleaning you up, I think I've got the right to know." He points out, wiping the rest of the blood away. The cut is clean, and won't need stitching, as long as Jim keeps it clean and still which...Leonard should probably stitch it.

Jim mutters something that Leonard can't hear. Leonard fixes him with a firm look, and Jim maintains the eye contact for a breath, before looking down at his lap, ashamed.

"Hendorff." He admits.

"Jim, he's twice the size of you!" Leonard hisses, going in search of his suture kit.

"And he was insulting Uhura, what was I supposed to do?"

"Keep your head down and drink elsewhere." Leonard suggests, threading one of his needles.

Jim makes a derisive noise, and then actually looks at what Leonard is doing, and immediately goes tense all over. Leonard can see the shift, the realisation.

"Bones, is that really necess-"

"Yes, so quit moaning about it." Leonard says, projecting the firm, no-nonsense aura he's been cultivating for the last year or so of medical school. It doesn't tend to work on Jim, he's found, but he's fairly certain that has more to do with Jim's general lack of disrespect for any and all authority figures than it does with Leonard himself. "Do you want it to scar?"

"I hear the girls like a scar." Jim says airily, "It'll make me look dangerous."

"Fine, do you want an _infection_?" Leonard asks him, and Jim grimaces. Neither of them wants a repeat of Jim's last major injury, the wound that had left him feverish and delirious and close to death. Leonard's not sure he'll ever recover from seeing Jim like that, or from living with the fear that he was going to die.

Jim mumbles guiltily, and doesn't back away again when Leonard approaches, needle in hand. Leonard positions a chair in front of the edge of the bed, and settles down into it, leaning forward to get a good look, the fingers of his left hand tipping Jim’s head a little so he’s in the better light.

Jim tolerates the stitches well. He always has. He holds himself perfectly still as the needle moves through his skin. Leonard works quickly, making small, precise stitches, knotting each one off with a tiny, neat knot close to the skin. It's probably some of his best work. Jim's only indication of pain is the way his breathing quickens a little, and after the first stitch, his right hand grabs for Leonard's thigh, fingers digging in sharply with each pass of the needle through flesh.

Leonard ties off the last stitch, and shifts back, just a little. Jim looks up at him, eyes hazy from drink and pain, his hand still curled around Leonard's thigh.

"You're an idiot." Leonard says, but there's no animosity in the words. There never is with Jim.

Jim makes a mumbled noise of assent, leaning forwards until the uninjured side of his face makes contact with Leonard's shoulder.

"Can I stay here tonight?" He asks into Leonard's shirt.

Leonard doubts that saying no would stop him. He also doesn’t want to say no. He never does when it's Jim. 

“Course you can.” He says, and eases Jim back from him, “Take your shoes off before you get into the bed.”

While Jim sheds shoes - and trousers, and shirt - Leonard takes the standard precautions. Door locked, and his desk chair wedged under the handle to prevent anyone using the spare key and taking them by surprise. It’s a necessary but hated precaution.

By the time he returns to the bed, Jim is already curled under the covers. Leonard blows the candle out, and gets into the bed by feel alone, and then Jim is there, warm and familiar and safe, even though right now he smells like alcohol and blood, he still smells like Jim at the same time.

In the dark, Jim’s hand finds Leonard’s and he tangles their fingers together.

Neither of them says anything aloud.

_I love you. _Leonard thinks as he drifts off to sleep. He might not say it with words, but he’s positive that Jim already knows. 

**Author's Note:**

> Want to know more about Trektober? Click [HERE](https://aishahiwatari.tumblr.com/post/188059640163/trektober) for the info post on Aisha's tumblr, or [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Trektober2019) for the AO3 collection to read our fic. 
> 
> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://demerite.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
